The hours passed, and death did not come, just more pain. As night gave way to dawn, and pale light crept through the gaps in the curtains of the study, Napoleon realised that he was not going to die after all. The poison, two years in the pouch, had lost its potency and had only served to deepen the humiliation to which he had been condemned. Gradually the fever passed, he stopped sweating and the agony in his stomach subsided, leaving him in despair.
At the eighth hour the door creaked open and Caulaincourt quietly entered the study, causing Napoleon to stir.
‘Sire, thank God!’ Caulaincourt exclaimed as he rushed over. ‘You live!’
‘So it seems,’ Napoleon whispered miserably.
‘Then I’ll summon the surgeon.’
Napoleon did not protest. If he was not to die, then what point was there in prolonging this suffering? ‘Call him then.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Caulaincourt jumped up, then sensing his master’s disappointment he paused. ‘Sire, you still live for a reason. Destiny must have a purpose for you yet.’
‘Really?’ Napoleon shook his head. He did not care any longer. He was too tired. He rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling as Caulaincourt’s footsteps hurried away. If he had cheated death, then death had cheated him also.
‘Those are their final terms, sire,’ Caulaincourt reported to the Emperor three days later, handing over a sealed document. ‘The allies will allow you to retain the title of Emperor. You will be given the island of Elba to rule. The French treasury will provide you with an income of two million francs a year. You will be permitted to take a thousand soldiers with you, and any additional servants you may require. The Bonaparte family is to renounce all its other crowns in exchange for pensions provided by the French government, and the Empress will be granted the Duchy of Parma.’
Napoleon stared at the document in his hand, but did not open it. His pale skin still looked faintly waxy, as if it was stretched over his skull. The poison had left him feeling weak and apathetic and he could only stomach the lightest of meals. He lay, wrapped in a thick blanket, on a chaise longue in his study. He looked up. ‘In exchange for my unconditional abdication?’
‘Yes, sire,’ Caulaincourt nodded. ‘It was the best I could do. The Prussians were all for having you shot. I played on what was left of the regard the Tsar once had for you after the Treaty of Tilsit. It was the Tsar who offered you Elba.’
‘Nevertheless, I am to be exiled.’
‘Yes, sire. You will be required to remain on the island until the time of your death. You will not be permitted to enter into any treaty with another kingdom and you will accept a resident appointed by the allied powers through whom you will communicate with them.’
‘While this resident spies on me.’
Caulaincourt nodded.
‘I see.’ Napoleon cradled his forehead in one hand as he continued to stare at the document. ‘How long have they given me to consider their offer?’
‘You are to sign it at once for me to return to Paris. If they do not have your agreement by midnight tomorrow then the offer is withdrawn and a bounty will be offered for your capture.’
Napoleon’s lips curled at the insulting prospect of being treated like a criminal, but there was no time and no choice in the matter. He must accept.
‘Very well,’ he sighed wearily. ‘I thank you for your efforts, Caulaincourt. Now fetch me that inkwell and pen over there.’
While Caulaincourt crossed the study to the Emperor’s desk, Napoleon broke the seal and opened the treaty document. The clauses were simple and direct and a space had been left at the bottom for his signature. Caulaincourt returned and held out the pen, then removed the lid of the inkwell and offered it to Napoleon. ‘Sire?’
Napoleon gazed at the treaty with malevolence. Every point had been calculated to diminish his glory and that of his entire family. It was strange, he mused, that even offended as he was, there was no desire in him to continue the fight at this moment. Exhaustion and his recovery from taking the poison conspired to rob him of the urge to resist his enemies. Flattening the paper on the surface of the couch, Napoleon dipped the pen into the ink and tapped off the excess. He hesitated momentarily before hurriedly scratching his signature, and handing the pen back to Caulaincourt.
‘There.’
‘Yes, sire.’ The ambassador delicately took the treaty and wafted it in the air to speed the drying of the ink. ‘I’ll away to Paris immediately. When you receive confirmation that they have the treaty, you are to leave for Elba.’
‘So soon?’ Napoleon eased himself back down and pulled the covers over his chest. Elba? He recalled the island, a miserable nonenity off the coast of Italy. The allies had found him the smallest of possible kingdoms to rule. But not one person in the whole of Europe would fail to see that in reality Elba was nothing more than a prison. Napoleon closed his eyes and Caulaincourt quietly left the room.
‘Elba it is, then,’ Napoleon whispered. ‘For now.’
Chapter 51
Arthur
Toulouse, 13 April 1814
‘Do you think it might be a trick, sir?’ asked Somerset as he stood at Arthur’s side, squinting through his telescope towards the gates on the eastern side of the town. They had been opened some twenty minutes earlier, and now a small party stood a short distance in front of the defences. Through his own telescope Arthur could see that they were mostly civilians, clustered together under a white flag.
‘I think not. It seems that they want to parley,’ Arthur said. ‘After all, Soult has abandoned them. They have nothing to gain from defending the town.’
Even before dawn, Arthur’s cavalry patrols had discovered the French column, picking its way to the south-east under cover of darkness. General Hill had immediately set off in pursuit, with orders to observe Soult and not engage him. Toulouse was a valuable prize and the army needed to rest and recover from the previous day’s battle for the Heights of Calvinet which dominated the town.
‘Hm.’ Somerset slowly trained his telescope along the walls. ‘There are still plenty of cannon on the walls, and I can see some soldiers.’
‘That may be,’ Arthur muttered, then snapped his telescope shut. ‘However, there’s no harm in talking to them. Ride down there and see what they want.’
Somerset lowered his telescope and nodded. ‘And if they want to discuss terms, sir? What shall I say?’
‘They are to surrender, without conditions, else we will sack the town.’ Arthur paused, and then smiled thinly. ‘You might mention that we have a division of Spaniards with us who are inclined to show little pity to the French.’
Somerset looked shocked. ‘That’s hardly fair, sir. Morillo’s men are as disciplined as any in the army.’
‘Yes, but they don’t know that,’ Arthur replied patiently as he nodded towards the waiting Frenchmen. ‘Now then, don’t tarry, Somerset.’
Arthur watched as his aide mounted his horse and cantered down the slope to cross the canal that separated the Heights from the town. The Spanish corps and Beresford’s two divisions were stretched out along the Heights, on either side of Arthur’s command post, and their sullen mood was evident in the slowness with which they had roused themselves at dawn and apathetically set to digging the earthworks Arthur had ordered constructed in case Soult decided to counter-attack. Even though the French army appeared to have quit Toulouse, Arthur thought it prudent to continue the work. If nothing else, it gave his men something to take their minds off the bitter fighting of the previous day. It had cost the allies over four thousand men to take the Heights, and across the slopes, raked by roundshot and canister, were clusters of freshly dug graves. With the war all but over, Arthur felt such losses ever more keenly. Even so, all the news from the north was encouraging. Paris had fallen and Bonaparte and what was left of his army must surely be compelled to surrender soon.